Welcome to my blog, a place where I'll share my musings and eccentric thoughts.
My Childhood Home
A few years ago, my parents sold my childhood house. It shouldn’t be a big deal, I mean, it’s a typical rite of passage– children grow up and move out, and the house becomes too big for two elderly people. But to me, it is a big deal, and I’m having trouble dealing with the loss.
Yes, I’m mourning a house. A safe haven that was unconditionally present throughout my life’s journey.
My family moved into that house over fifty years ago. Countless birthday parties and sleepovers… illnesses and broken bones… Thanksgiving and football games… graduations, proms, and bridal showers. Our house was steadfast and always present, and as such, has kept me connected with a childhood that’s been determined to drift into the past.
But, with a swipe of a ballpoint pen, the tenuous connection was unceremoniously severed like a sucker punch in the gut.
I drive past the house from time to time. The new owners are in the process of demolishing the innards… tearing down walls, paneling, and cabinets, pulling up carpet and ripping out fixtures. Basically tossing my memories into a dumpster.
With a trembling sigh, I roll past the house and try to say goodbye for the last time.
I know I’ll be back.
-Ellen
2/4/2023